February Fourteenth
February 13th, 2025
Writer: Sydney Holzman
Editor: Zoe Gellert
February 14th has always been my favorite day of the year. Over time, pink crayon hearts became sincere notes, and candy bracelets separated into two gifts, but stuffed animals have stayed stuffed animals, and Valentine’s Day has remained my favorite holiday.
Since I can remember, this holiday has been about waking up to heart-shaped chocolate chip pancakes, strawberry milk, and a note from my mom. It was about staying up too late the night before putting the finishing touches on handmade gifts for each person in my class. It was about spending hours in the car, dropping off conversation hearts and notes of appreciation at each of my friends’ houses. It is knowing, even now, that my mom’s love travels the 1,500 miles between us in a cardboard box alongside pink nonpareils, red jelly beans, cozy pajamas, a card, and a teddy bear. She has instilled in me the value of tradition, of small acts of kindness, of love in ways that transcend anything that could fit inside a cardboard box (but also that can when it needs to).
On my sixth Valentine's Day, I learned everyone deserves a Valentine. I put aside my grudges and carefully delivered homemade flower pots adorned with pink flowers to the boy who pushed me off the swings and the girl who called me a crybaby. When I was twelve, I realized that the heartfelt crafts from my friend group meant far more than the generic drugstore card with a sloppy “Happy Vday” from my class crush. 2020 presented me with a challenge, forcing me to show each of the people I love how much I loved them from six feet away. My eighteenth Valentine’s Day made up for that distance and was spent dressed in red, running around my high school, delivering candygrams, and singing in front of full classrooms; I proudly place any shred of embarrassment aside for my favorite holiday. The following year, I tirelessly defended my love for the day against friends who dismissed it as an Instagram reminder of their singleness. By twenty-one, I have finally embraced—cheesy as I once thought it was– just how much I share my mom’s passion for giving and ability to gift her thoughts into words on paper.
As I’ve grown with the holiday, I’ve learned the value of loving big. I’ve stopped wasting time keeping any admiration to myself. To me, Valentine’s Day is about telling the people I love just how special they are–and, in doing so, reminding myself of how much love fills my life, sometimes overwhelmingly so.
My best friend has letters I have written to her in a frame on her dresser. My roommate keeps a message I wrote on a Post-it card stuck to her vanity mirror. A note I wrote to my sister remains tucked in her nightstand, and my mom keeps everything I have written in a special box. I feel lucky to have people that make inscribing my love so easy.
To each recipient of my Valentine’s Day love— whether you have come and gone or stayed–I hope you know I admire you deeply, and I am grateful to tell you so and to say to you now: I love you.
Driving in the car together a few weeks ago, my sister blurted out advice based on a quote from The Perks of Being a Wallflower: “We accept the love we think we deserve.” I like the sentiment, but I prefer my ratified version: We accept the love we think we deserve and give that love back.
It’s a cycle. You give the love. You get the love. So, give and accept love in every way that you can. Happy Valentine’s Day!